


Don't Say Please

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram



Series: Hannibal Season 2: Nightmares and Reminiscences [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal visits Will in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and reminds him of things that Will would rather forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Say Please

“Don’t you want to remember, Will? That night after I was attacked by Tobias Budge?”

“You know it isn’t fair to remind me of that. I didn’t know who you were.”

“Didn’t you?” Hannibal asked. The question was dripping with hidden intent. In asking it, Hannibal was really saying that Will did know. He had just killed Franklyn Froideveaux, after all. He knew Hannibal was a killer that very moment, just as he knew he could hold life in his hands, when he saw him save that man in the back of the ambulance, who had almost died.

That’s what did it. Seeing him, putting a stopper in death itself. Their eyes had met and it was the first time Will found that he couldn’t look away. When Hannibal had his dinner party, and Will didn’t stay, this was why. He couldn’t be around him with all those other people. He’d wanted him to himself.

That opportunity came soon after, when Hannibal had been hurt by Budge. After the Paramedics had checked him over, and determined he had no head injury, but only a black eye; no internal bleeding, but only a few cracked ribs; no teeth knocked out, only a split lip; no serious injury to his thigh that would only need the changing of bandages, and maybe a few stitches that Hannibal could always administer himself.; he let Will take him back to his house from his office. He’d insisted on it. Not only had Hannibal thought Will might be dead, but Will had felt fear at the possibility of losing Hannibal. His apology for bringing him into his world was only half-honest. He wanted him there, but unharmed.

This was why it wasn’t fair to remind him. Hannibal had come to talk to him, today, in the Privacy Room. The only place Chilton couldn’t listen. Hannibal had made Will feel that way, wanted to taunt him with it…after all of that, Hannibal had put him here. And not only was Will made to feel concern that day, but to be…caught? Addicted? Was that even the right word?

Will had brought Hannibal back to his own home that night. His ruined, expensive trousers had to be cut off above the wound, and Hannibal did in fact put a few stitches in the narrow injury. Will helped him out of them, as well as his shirt; his bruised ribs needed to be stabilized. Standing there, in boxer briefs only, with Will winding a compression bandage around his ribs to brace them, Hannibal saw his hands were shaking. Had asked him why, and when he had told his friend it was because he was afraid of losing him, Hannibal had brought him fully upright, face to face, by gently guiding his chin upwards. Will forced himself to look Hannibal in the eyes, and he looked so wounded, more so than Hannibal, who had actually been.

As the distance between them closed, and Hannibal kissed him, Will was afraid to kiss back too forcefully. He didn’t want to split that lip further; but Hannibal pulled it out of him, felt Will sigh into his mouth as Hannibal parted Will’s lips with his tongue. That had been the beginning of the end, Will reflected later on, after he was locked up. Those lips had taken him apart.

He wanted to touch Hannibal so much, he felt the pull towards him like gravity; but again, there was the fear of causing him pain, exacerbating his injuries. He reasoned Hannibal’s hips had been uninjured, so held him there, while the larger man’s arms roamed the back of his neck and shoulder blades. It felt oddly like dancing, but so much closer, so much hotter. Will reflected that he might have felt hot due to all of his clothes, while Hannibal was practically naked. He shifted uncomfortably, then braced himself against the wall with one hand, tongue still locked inside of Wills mouth, teasing his bottom lip. Will wanted to break the kiss, to see if he was OK, not in pain, but could only suck at Hannibal’s mouth even harder when he felt those teeth.

Will chanced running his hands up Hannibal’s chest and was rewarded with a deeper kiss, fiercer still. He felt Hannibal pressing into his thigh, cock hard and insistent. He could barely accept he was doing this to such a beautiful man; that he was arousing _him_ made him feel drunk. He had to see how far it could go, once he’d gotten a taste. He trailed his tongue over Hannibal’s lips, down his jaw line, to his neck, over every inch, down to his collar bone and lower still; sadly, he’d had to skip most of his chest and abdomen due to the bandages. Now, lowering himself to his knees, he mouthed at Hannibal’s uninjured thigh. When he looked back up, there was an intensity in Hannibal’s eyes he’d never seen before, a need. Hannibal took Will’s hair in his hands and pressed him forward, and Will complied with the unspoken instruction to mouth at Hannibal’s intimidating erection through the thin material that still stood in the way.

Before Will could allow himself to remember more, he stopped, and turned from Hannibal. Being chained in the Privacy Room, he couldn’t get up and leave, couldn’t put his head in his hands or cover his ears. Hannibal continued:

“Why don’t you wish to remember, Will?”

“What we were. How it felt….” Then in a whisper, full of his damnation, “What it did to me.”

“It could be that way again. If you were to get out of here, we could resume.”

“As if nothing ever happened? As if you didn't put me here?”

“I didn't put you here, Will. The evidence did.”

Will laughed derisively at this. Hannibal would never directly deceive him, but he would never show his hand.

_The devil mixes lies with the truth._

There was a truth, though, that Will didn't want to face. That despite his rage, there was another feeling that cut deeper. He fell back into the memory of that night:

Reverently, his kneeling supplication now complete, Will slipped Hannibal’s boxer briefs down. Seeing his cock revealed slowly, such a minute distance from his mouth, made him feel faint with desire. Placing his lips at the base, he closed his eyes. When he felt Hannibal shudder, and lean forward, he took that as license to move up the shaft, ever so gradually. He could scarcely believe how smooth and velvet the skin felt on his lips; when he got to the head, he traced it with his tongue, and looked up to see Hannibal resting his forehead on his hand that was braced on the wall, his breathing heavy.

Hannibal tilted his hips so that his cock was at a better angle to go down Will’s throat more easily. He let it slide down, inch by inch, so gradually that he had opportunity to adjust to the invasion. Hannibal pulled out just a little, letting him breathe, before pushing back in. Will resisted; he wasn't sure he’d be able to get in another breath; but when he looked again, and Hannibal said to him, voice dark: “Will. Please….” how could he not comply?

Even after that night, even when other times Hannibal fucked his mouth relentlessly (usually after Will had invaded his office in the middle of the day, hoping he didn’t have a patient) they always returned to this first pace, from this first time: slow and sweet, but also deep and brutal.

As Hannibal had quickened his shallow thrusts, pulsing in Will’s mouth, lips tight around him, he caressed his hair from Will’s forehead even as he used his throat. He breathed Will’s name, over and over, as he got closer to release.

The repetition of his name, even Hannibal’s moans and half-spoken words, captured his inflections, his accent; that was what had pushed Will over the edge, irrevocably, now and possibly forever. That voice, praising him, gasping in pleasure. Nothing in the world approached it. Would ever be its equal.

When Hannibal spoke, again, in the present, here with Will chained in this room, it broke the spell of his memory:

“Will, look at me. Please.”

“Don’t…don’t say that…”

“Don’t say what? ‘ _Please_ ’? Why not?”

Will didn't have to look at him to know the ghost of a smile would be playing at the corner of his mouth.

“You _know_ why.”

“Your aversion to me saying a simple word like ‘please’ only proves my point, Will.”

“I can’t…”

“I doubt you have a choice. But in any case, it’s time for me to go. Do think about what we've discussed today.”

Hannibal left him, and he was taken back to his cell. How could he avoid thinking of it? Could he fight this addiction, should he ever be set free? Or would he go back, and fall to his knees again?


End file.
